Hermione's Diary
by Filthy x Gorgeous
Summary: What would happen if Hermione's diary fell into the hands of Severus Snape?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Long time no writing. However, I've been struck down with the flu and am pretty much on bedrest, so what better way to pass the time?

"He's such a git." muttered Ron after they left their potions lesson. "Why does he always have to give us so much homework?"

"The Quidditch match is on Sunday. He probably wants to keep us from practicing so that Slytherin actually have a chance." Harry said solemnly. The boys turned to Hermione, who was rummaging through her bag as they walked, becoming increasingly frantic.

"Have either of you seen my diary?" she asked them. "it's just a small black notebook.."

"You mean the one that was out on the table in potions?" Ron said. "You should've picked it up."

She didn't bother to answer as she ran back to the dungeon. The door was closed but unlocked, the desks were cleared, the room empty. She unloaded her bag onto one of the tables, just to be sure she wasn't carrying it. She checked, double checked, and then swept the things back into her pack, and thought back. Ron, Harry and herself were the last to leave, and no one had walked close to their table as they exited the dungeon.

There was only one person who could have it. Snape. How was she going to get it from him, before he began to read?

ooooooo

Severus Snape had retired to his living quarters after his final lesson, a book in his hand. He threw it onto the coffee table in his living room, before stalking to the kitchen to get a coffee. It had been a long day. He returned to the lounge and settled himself on the sofa, mug in hand, and picked up the book.

What was it, and why did the usually organised Miss Granger leave it behind? He opened it at the first page, where he found her intricate handwriting, _Hermione's Diary, keep out. _

He smiled to himself. Such an adapt witch failed to protect her innermost thoughts, secrets and desires with any kind of magic? Such a primitive "keep out" message wouldn't even keep your average muggle from reading further. But still, why leave it in his class? He flipped through, trying to find the most recent entry, to gain some kind of insight. He knew it was a violation of privacy, but he could not bring his hands to stop turning the pages, or his eyes to stop scanning the page. Even the slight pondering about morals vanished from his mind as he saw his own name. He settled further into the sofa and began to read.

_December 3rd._

_Dear diary,_

_I fear that writing about Severus yet again will make me seem somewhat obsessed. Trust me, that is not the case. I am fully capable of keeping my hormones under control and I certainly have no time for a crush. However, every time I am in his dungeon, my mind fills with thoughts of him and his life. I have seen this man almost daily for years now, yet I know little about him, or how he came to be the person he is today. My mind swarms with questions, has he known love? Does he have friends? Why does he torment his students - is it simply because he hates us, or is it easier for him to keep everyone at arms length rather than let them get to know him?_

_Who is Severus Snape?_

He closed the book and set it delicately back onto the table. Did she want him to read this? It seems she had written it in class. He stifled a smile at the thought. She had produced the best potion in the class, yet her mind had not been on her work. The smile was soon dissolved, however, as he thought over the content. Who did she think she was to be asking these questions? What business was it of hers what his life was?

He slid the book onto one of the many bookcases in his room before he set off to the great hall for dinner.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Pretty quick second chapter, eh? Reviews are much loved, so cheers to Jiang Qing!

Hermione had spent her free time looking for Snape, to no avail. She was led from her search by Harry and Ron, eho insisted she have some dinner.

"I don't see why you think it's so important." Ron said as he loaded his place with food. "I mean, is there anything really personal in there?"

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked.

"Well I can hardly accost him here, can I?" She turned and looked up through the crowds of students to see the Professor sitting at the staff table.

"You didn't…" Harry started, and stopped as something caught his eye. "He's looking at you."

"Are you certain?" She gasped. "He may just be looking around all of the students."

"No, it's just you …" he trailed off. "Hermione, you didn't write anything in there about voldemort, or me, or anything to do with that, did you?"

"Of course not, Harry. Give me some credit."

"What is in there that you are so eager to keep hidden?" He asked, Ron leaning in to hear the answer, still chewing noisily.

"I'd really rather not say." She said, head down. "And as soon as I get it back, I'll never have to."

He could not stop his eyes from searching for her in the great hall. Her writing had not done much to bother him, but the answers to her questions pained him. He had known the feeling of love, but never as the recipient. He had engaged in the physical act, but it was as emotional an experience as cleaning a bathroom. He had no friends, and found it much easier to get through the day being hated and feared than trying to connect with his students.

He refused to admit to himself just who Severus Snape was. Part of him was afraid of the answer.

He glanced at the girl again, but Potter met his eyes. Harry's eyes were full of curiosity, and as he spoke they began to flick back to Hermione more often. Severus hurried with his meal and left the hall, grateful for one of the Weasley twins pranks keeping all eyes from his exit.

Ooooooooooooooooo

"He's gone." Ron said, pointing to the staff table. Harry and Hermione looked up in unison to the empty seat.

"Oh no!" cried Hermione. "How am I going to find him now?"

"Calm down, you can see him on Monday in class." Ron replied, smiling widely as the plates in front of them filled with a range of cakes.

"It's not soon enough! I need to find him tonight, before he has a chance to read it."

"Hermione, what is in the diary?" Harry asked, exasperated. "There can't be anything that bad."

She didn't answer him, and looked at the chocolate cake before her, not feeling remotely hungry.

She was lost in thought as they walked back up to the common room, and still had not spoken as they sat down before the open fire. She knew he did not socialise with the other professors much, and she hadn't often seen him walking the grounds in the evening. She looked up at Harry.

"I have a huge favour to ask." She smiled.

"What is it?"

"Are the professors living quarters on the Marauders map?"

"They are …" he said, slowly. "But filch will be out in the halls. It's a huge risk to take for a book."

"Then I need an even bigger favour."

She set off down one of the moving staircases, Harry's invisibility cloak around her and the map in hand. He had pleaded with her not to go, but relented in the end. After all, hadn't she helped him before with things far more dangerous?

The castle was dark and quiet, most students settling down to study or even have an early night. She passed Professor Flitwick at the bottom of the stairs, and his obliviousness gave her a boost of confidence.

She reached the end of a dark corridor, the flames of the torches seeming somehow duller than those further back. She knocked on the door quietly, quickly disengaging the map and throwing both that and the cloak into her bag.

Oooooo

Severus had ran quickly back to his quarters, skipping dessert for the sanctuary of his home. He stood under the hot water of his shower for longer than usual, arguing with himself about what to do that evening. He knew he should be grading potions, but he was drawn to the diary of the know-it-all Gryffindor.

He reclined into bed, the book in hand, opened at random and began to read, ignoring the feelings of guilt.

_November 24__th_

_Dear diary,_

_This has been playing on my mind for a while, but I cannot talk to about it to anyone. I'm hoping writing it down will have some kind of cathartic effect, as it's slowly driving me insane. _

_I intend to stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas break. My parents have accepted my choice, but I have told no one else for fear that once molly hears the news she will have everyone trying to convince me to spend the holiday with the weasleys and harry. I just want to be alone. I don't know why, but the feeling builds. I feel as though I cannot be myself around people. Ron and Harry are my best friends, and you should see the look on their face if I start discussing One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. It sounds so stereotypically teenage, but I just wish someone could understand me. _

_A quiet knock broke his attention. He hid the open book under his pillow before he made his way to the door. _


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione heard footsteps coming closer to the door. She braced herself, ready to stand her ground through the inevitable displeasure at her presence. Yet, the door did not open. She pressed her ear to the door and heard a low, pained muttering. She crouched to look through the keyhole, and saw Snape clutching his left forearm before moving swiftly to the fireplace, throwing in some floo powder and softly speaking a destination she couldn't quite make out.

She was torn. Should she leave and get Dumbledore? Come back another time? She shook her head and pulled out her wand, pointing to the lock.

"Alohomora" she whispered, smiling as she heard the lock unclick. She entered and quickly locked the door behind her before taking in her surroundings.

The room was dimly lit by the roaring open fire, casting strange shadows onto the bookcase lined walls. It was clearly not a place for company, one chair sat by the small desk, the two-seater sofa half covered in a pile of essays, a matching pile on the coffee table. Was this his life? Reading and working? Of course, he must spend a lot of time working for the Order, playing the role of spy, but is this all he came back to? A dark room, alone. Nothing to show for his efforts. No one to care.

She set about checking the bookcases for her diary. There were many similar unmarked black notebooks, but in each the handwriting was far different to hers, some were even scrawled in languages she didn't recognise. She quickly glanced through the two doors leading from the living room. The simple kitchen and bedroom were bare. They reminded her of hotel rooms, stripped of any personality. If not for the books in the living room, she would have assumed this place uninhabited. The mantle held no photographs of loved ones, the letter holder on the desk lay empty.

She sat on the empty half of the sofa and rested her head back, she did not know how long he would be gone, but she couldn't think of where to look next, and how much further she was willing to invade his privacy.

Ooooooooooo

Severus gasped for breath, eyes closed as he stumbled from the fireplace into his quarters. He had done nothing to displease the Dark Lord, but he still bore the brunt of his displeasure. He had been cruel, more so than usual, as the gaping wounds on Severus' face and chest proved. He dropped to all fours and fought to stay conscious, to catch his breath. At least he was alive. Things could have been worse. Much worse.

A scream brought him further into reality and he struggled to his knees. Being fully upright was not an option.

"Get. Out." he gasped, seeing the young witch standing before him, a look of shock and fear etched upon her face. He did not care to know why she was here, but he did not want her to stay and see him writhe in pain.

"Professor, you need help." She said, horrified. If he had had the strength he would have laughed at her. Allegedly so smart, yet stating the obvious.

"Dumbledore." He coughed. Why was she not moving? She was standing above him now, her wand out. Surely she was not so full of hate for him that she would prolong this agony? He closed his eyes and braced himself for another blow, but it did not come.

"Wingardium Leviosa." she whispered, and he felt himself become weightless, floating through the doorway and landing softly on his bed. He felt her hands carefully sweeping his hair from his face, and heard her gasp at the wound that lay there.

"Dumbledore." He whispered again.

"We don't have time, Professor." She said, frantic. "I can help."

He wished he had the strength to object. This girl was naught but a 16 year old, and no matter how good she was at writing essays and spending her evenings poring through books most students would never touch, this needed advanced healing. Yet as he lay there, he felt the pain his in his face slowly ebb away, heard the same words being carefully whispered that he himself would use in such a situation.

"Professor, I need you to take off your robe." She said. He cracked an eye open to look at her, and was glad she had at least the humility to blush.

"I shall manage from here, Miss Granger." he croaked.

"Professor, please. You will risk hurting yourself further if you move. Please." The pleading in her voice was something he never thought he'd hear, short of her begging to answer a question in class. "I won't tell a soul, I promise." She continued. He knew he had no real choice, and she had proven she had the necessary skills to heal him. He managed a small, humiliated nod, and felt his robe being opened. He felt immediately grateful that there were no wounds below the chest, and his modesty could remain, for the most part, intact. He closed his eyes tightly as she concentrated on the spells to quell the bleeding.

Oooooooo

"Professor," Hermione spoke quietly. "It's done." She looked down at the beaten wreck of a man in front of her. While the bleeding had stopped and the wounds were sealed, he was far from the picture of health.

"You may leave." He said softly, wincing as he moved to a sitting position.

"What happened? Who did this to you?" She demanded, ignoring his dismissal. He looked at her like she was simple.

"Oh." She said. She searched her mind for something more eloquent to say, but she could only think of the obvious. "I'm so sorry, Professor."

"Sorry?" He spat. "This is my duty. I have endured worse."

"That makes it more horrifying." She said, tears blurring her vision. She could not help herself as tears spilled free, her embarrassment peaking. "I'm sorry."

"You need not apologise for everything." He said, struggling to stand. "Now, if you could please leave, my night is not quite over."

"Goodbye, Professor. I hope my spells were adequate." She responded as she walked toward the door. She tried to halt her tears, but the realisation that his pain had been too intense for him to even question her presence, or to punish her just made them flow more freely.

She made her way to her dormitory, all the while fighting the urge to return to her Professor. She fell into a fitful sleep, not even thinking of why she had gone to his quarters in the first place.

Ooooooooooo

Severus opened the trunk at the end of his bed, perusing the vials of various potions stored inside. He needed to find some kind of pain relief, the agony remaining despite the healed wounds. He finally found the appropriate vial and downed the liquid, grimacing at the taste. The effect was evident immediately, the sharp pains fading to dull aches, his mind no longer swimming. He narrowed his eyes as he remembered his helper. Miss Granger, it would seem, had broken into his home. It seemed quite a drastic action for a mere diary, but he did not presume to know the inner workings of the girls mind. He thought of the most appropriate punishment, but his heart fell. Could he really punish the girl who had healed his wounds, regardless of why she had been present? The girl who he had gained a slight insight to via her personal journal?

He washed the blood from himself quickly but carefully, pulled on some clean, undamaged robes and set off the to the Headmaster's office.

"Was there a reason for this brutality?" Dumbledore asked as he poured Severus a cup of tea from a silver pot.

"To remind me who is in charge, I assume." Severus said quietly. "To show me my place."

"And did it?" Dumbledore asked, taking a sip from his own cup.

"If anything, it solidified my belief in the light."

They both sat, silently drinking their sweet tea. Severus left rather quickly, he did not want to admit who had helped him, or that he needed assistance at all. He could not place his finger on why, but he did not feel comfortable sharing the information, even to Dumbledore, the man he trusted with everything.

As soon as he returned to his sanctuary, he began to strip the blood-soaked sheets from the bed. There was a loud bang as something hit the floor, and always cautious, he drew his wand as he slowly moved around the bed, only to relax as he noticed it was just the girl's diary. He placed it on the bedside cabinet and resumed his cleaning, feeling uneasy as he realised he would have missed the thing.

The hours were small as he finally climbed into bed, the aches remaining strong regardless of the potions he consumed. He reached for the diary, promising himself that he would return it. He just could not decide when.

_December 1__st_

_Dear Diary,_

_Sometimes I envy the girls around me. It seems so trivial, the idea of relationships. In some ways, I still consider myself too young to fret over such things. I'm only sixteen, far too young to be thinking of finding my soul mate. But I do wish. I long to feel loved, cared for. Imagining someone to be there for me, to hug me and stroke my hair after a particularly rough day. I can't imagine the feeling of having someone telling me that everything will be ok. It could very well be a lie, but I would love the lie. I know what the other girls say about me, that there must be something between I and either Ron or Harry, but they are like brothers. And with siblings comes an awkwardness around emotions that words can't express - in fact, it's the lack of words that shows it for what it is._

_Severus closed the book swiftly. He did not like sharing dreams with a teenage girl._


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Apologies to the italics at the end! I do alter it on MSWord, but something must go awry when I upload - I'll edit the uploaded files from now on, so hopefully you'll see the right format in the right place.

As for how long this story is going to be, as of yet I'm unsure. I have idea that could keep it going for quite a while, but if it seems to start dragging I'll cut it much shorter. I'd venture to guess at least another ten chapters, though.

* * *

"So, did you get it?" Harry asked Hermione as she arrived fir breakfast the next morning.

"Get what?" She asked, sitting and pouring herself a coffee. She'd awoken somehow more tired than when she had crawled into bed.

"The diary..?" Ron clarified, giving her an odd look.

"Oh, no, I didn't." She smiled awkwardly. She didn't feel comfortable sharing the details of the night before, not even with her best friends. She quickly thought up a lie. "His door was magically sealed and he didn't answer."

"I wonder if he's alright." Harry pondered, looking up to the staff table at the empty seat. "Probably just having a lie in."

"Probably." agreed Hermione, adding silently, _he needs one. _

The boys left her after breakfast to head down to the Quidditch pitch. She was not in the mood for sitting in the stands in this winter weather, so she set off back to the common room, ready to start her potions essay. It didn't seem overly complex essay, simply the effects of Dreamless Sleep and the pros and cons of using it, along with brewing method. She gathered her quills and parchment and sat at a small table by the fire, ready for a quiet morning of work.

She was listing the appropriate times to use the potion when she paused and stared at the last line she had written.

_Possibly the most apt time to use this potion is after suffering some kind of trauma, be it physical, emotional or psychological. A deep sleep can vastly improve recovery from most ills._

Although the potion was common and quite easy to brew, she wondered whether to make some for Snape. Perhaps he was too proud to make such a thing for himself. And even if not, what harm could it possibly do to show that someone appreciated the position he held? As far as she could tell, most of the order simply refrained from hexing him because of Dumbledore. No one actually cared for the man.

She quickly finished up her essay, taking much less care than she normally did with her schoolwork, and headed upstairs, hoping she had the necessary ingredients in her trunk.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Severus' hunger could not convince him to leave the comfort of his home. Instead, he laid on his sofa, transferring the pile of essays from the seat to his lap. Aches be damned, he needed to mark these by Monday, and while his aches rendered near immobile he had nothing better to do with his time.

He found himself drifting into sleep as he read the essays. He did not know whether to be alarmed at his lack of strength or disgusted at the authors of this work who could not keep him interested for more than a minute.

A knock on the door snapped him from his reverie. The noise startled him and the pain from his chest resonated through his limbs as he jumped. He swore under his breath and stood, noticing that he must have fallen asleep, the sunlight was streaming through the window much brighter now. Was it midday already?

He pulled the door open, wand out, only to lower it when he saw his visitor.

"You are not making a habit of breaking and entering, I see." He said to the young witch. She looked uncomfortable standing in the doorway. "To what do I owe this presence?"

"Isn't it 'to what do I owe this pleasure?'?" she asked.

"Not today, Miss Granger." He responded dryly. Her face fell.

"I brought you some things. May I come in?" Her voice was timid, and she looked down at the basket in her hands, avoiding looking at him.

"If you must." He moved aside and let her pass, closing the door behind her.

He watched her clear his coffee table, moving the books and parchments to the desk, before she knelt on the ground beside the wicker basket, pulling various foods and drinks from it. He walked toward the scene warily and picked up a vial she had laid beside a plate of sandwiches.

"Your assignment had no practical aspect." He said softly.

"No." She said, still looking down, her skin blushing slightly. "That's for you. I thought it might help."

"I see." He frowned. Did the girl not realise he would give her back her journal if she would only ask:? There was no need for all of this. "And you didn't think the potions master could brew his own concoctions?"

"I thought you may appreciate the gesture." She mumbled.

"And the feast you have brought?" He gestured to the range of foods on the table, more than enough for a large family, never mind one man.

"You weren't at breakfast. Or lunch. I thought you might be hungry, but I don't know what you like… So."

Silence filled the room, the tension becoming more noticeable. He wanted her to leave, but something stopped him from telling her so. He thought back to the diary. "_I just want to be alone_" … He knew that feeling, and how much pain it took to get to that stage. If she was willingly sitting in his company instead of focusing on her sufferings, however trivial they seemed to him, who was he to turn her away? Especially considering the help she had given him.

He sighed and walked slowly to the kitchen, returning with two goblets. She looked at him, confused.

"Your friends may eat five times more than their fill, Miss Granger, but let me assure you, not everyone is quite so gluttonous. There is more than enough here for the two of us."

He gestured to the sofa for her to take a seat, and pulled the desk chair over for himself. As he watched her, he could not believe how blind he must have been. The girl looked so tired, drawn, Her skin seemed stretched over her face, her eyes held a haunting sadness. How could he have missed this? They ate in silence for a while, before she stood.

"Don't forget your potion." She said. "Would you like me to fetch some dinner later?"

"I need no carer, Miss Granger." He responded. "I daresay I shall manage to feed myself without assistance. Good day."

He did not watch her as she left.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hermione walked back to the common room slowly, her mind elsewhere. Her professor had had been in such pain, the extent of which he couldn't hide. She had noticed his pained expression as he reached forward for his goblet, she had not missed his hand moving to the faded wound on his head as he fought hard for his expression to remain stoic. Were he anyone else, she would insist on them visiting Madam Pomfrey, but she knew that is would be an exercise in futility.

She walked back to the dormitory alone, prepared to finish all of the assignments she had been given, but she find her mind unfocused. She couldn't help but to think back to her lunchtime, how Snape had not shown his usual cold, ungrateful exterior, but let her in to his home and shared a meal with her. While it was not an actual 'thank you', it was so far removed from how he normally treated her that he may as well have bought her an oversized bouquet. Assuming he took the potion, however, he would soon be fit to return to normality. His day to day life, however, filled Hermione with nothing but sadness for the man. Her work stretched out long after Ron and Harry had returned, muddy and laughing, and she did not look up from her books until the trio set off for dinner.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Severus sat, looking at the sight before him. It had been a long time since he had had company in his quarters, and never before had a student entered. He would have thought himself insane, remembering an odd dream, but the drained goblets and half eaten food before him proved the reality.

Why? Why was this girl doing this? He had never been mothered - not even by his mother, he thought with a sad laugh - and had no need of it now. While she had proven herself useful and gifted the previous night, he could not fathom why she had returned, and once again left without mentioning the book.

Once the thought of the diary was in his mind again, he picked it up, not bothering to talk himself out of reading it.

_Dear Diary,_

_Everywhere I look in this castle I see people happy, smiling and social and I cannot help but to feel as though I must be defective. Is happiness really so easy to achieve? I try to pretend, I honestly do. But then seeing how naturally it comes to everyone else … am I really so different, or are they simply better actors than me? _

_Others have much more to fret about, much more on their minds. Harry is still grieving for Sirius, on it's own a much larger difficulty than I have to face. Combined with his other struggles, how does he manage to stay so … alive? While he is certainly not the same boy I met years ago, he is still happy, still kind and brave. What keeps his spirit aflame?_

_There is only one man who appears to be as alone as I feel here. Professor Snape. I know it sounds ridiculous. I just can't help but to see myself in his loneliness. I wish he'd found something to keep himself from slipping into it._

Severus set the book aside, his face blank. While he had been unaware of Miss Granger's aching loneliness, it seems she had been privy to his. If he had kept a diary in his youth, he could only imagine it reading something similar to this entry. He had thought he had found a love, something to keep his spirit aflame, as it had been said, and when that had failed, he thought he had found a family of sorts.

He prepared to set off to dinner, taking pleasure in the knowledge that Miss Granger were not stupid enough to repeat his mistakes.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione walked to dinner with Ron and Harry, joining in their conversation about the next days Quidditch match. She did not understand most of what was being said, but she nodded enthusiastically whenever she felt the need.

"Are you coming down to watch us?" Ron asked.

"Why would I not?"

"You've been a bit funny lately." he shrugged. "Bit distant."

"I'm fine." she said, forcing a smile. "I've just been studying."

"That's not like you!" Harry joked as they sat before the large plates, filled with hearty food.

"See, we told you snape was ok." Ron jerked his head up to the staff table as he stuffed his mouth full of bread. Hermione almost dropped her bowl of irish stew.

"I never said he wasn't, did I?"

"You kept looking up at his seat often enough this morning."

"Just coincidence, I suppose." She said, glancing up.

He looked pained, even from this distance.. His skin looked paler than usual, his hair conveniently falling before the left side of his face, obscuring the marks. If only he'd taken the potion! He could be laying in bed, resting, healing. Would anyone have ensured he ate? She wondered. She couldn't imagine Dumbledore would let the man starve, but everyone had let him become so ravenous the he accepted the company of a so called insufferable know-it-all.

"Speaking of Snape," Harry started, bringing her attention back to her friends. "Have you gotten started on your essay yet?"  
"Yes…" She suppressed a smile, knowing where this was leading.  
"Could me and Ron, er, have a little look later? With this Quidditch match our time is so tight… And you know so much about potions…"  
"Never go into the business of flattery." She laughed, "I'll leave the books out on the table, even open to the pages you need. But you are not copying me."

Her smile froze on her face as she realised Snape was watching her. He looked almost pleased about something, but as he looked away she was almost certain she had imagined it. Him showing any emotion other than rage or disappointment was unheard of, especially in such a public setting. Yet she couldn't remove the smile from her face as she thought of him being happy.

* * *

Severus had skipped dessert at dinner, making a swift trip to the owlery. He paused, contemplating the consequences of sending this letter. One of the shortest notes he had ever written, and it was so far removed from his comfort zone that his hands had near frozen in the snow as he hovered his quill above the parchment, half of him telling himself to forget this foolishness and leave. Yet, he could not bring himself to listen. He surveyed the snow scene around him as the owl took his message.

He could not deny to himself the happiness he had felt less than an hour earlier. He would have been lying to himself if he thought the diary he had been reading did not have him worried. But seeing Miss Granger talk to her friends, throw her head back with laughter, smile openly … well, it was touching. He did not believe it a true possibility that she would become as miserably lonely as he, but he had been wrong before. All traces of the girl who sat in his quarters that midday, looking so fragile she could break, were gone.

He could not remember the last time he had stood outside and taken in the view. His movement was normally predictable, going from home to class to the great hall, and when summoned, to either the Dark Lord or Dumbledore. He did, occasionally, return to his house in Spinner's End, but the place held nothing for him but bitter memories he would rather forget. It would never be home the way this castle was. Of course, he would venture to the Quidditch pitch tomorrow to show support for his house, but that, too, was predictable. There was nothing predictable about sending a letter, however, to one of his students in the dead of night. The mere thought of it seemed inappropriate, yet he brushed it off. Hadn't Potter exchanged numerous noted with the werewolf when he had taught here? And it would not surprise him if Trelawney sent out various omens depicting all kinds of unfortunate events. No, he was sure there was nothing odd about this, other than it was him that was doing it.

He told himself this numerous times as he walked back to his living space, the cold aching his bones.

* * *

"Just hold on a minute!" Hermione shouted down through the open dormitory door. Harry and Ron were too impatient for their own good at times. Didn't they realise that they needed more than one book to write their essays properly?

"There's an owl here for you!" She heard Ron shouting up to her. "It says confidential. Can I open it?"

"Ron, of course not!" She said, making her way down the steps with her arms full of books. She could not imagine who had sent her a letter at this time of night. Her parents mail arrived with the morning owls, and she wasn't expecting anything from them until Christmas. Who else had a need to write to her?

She sorted the books for the boys before she took the letter from the table where Ron had placed it. The handwriting on the envelope looked strange, as though someone had tried to alter the natural flow of their quill. She tore it open, frowning.

_6am, my quarters. If this time is unsuitable, I understand. Tell no one.  
__SS._

She frowned. Snape? Why on earth was he summoning her at such odd hours? She quickly pushed the letter deep into the pocket of her robes.

"Harry, could I possibly borrow your cloak again in a moment?" She smiled at him.

"Who was it?" He asked.

"Just my Aunt, wondering about Christmas gifts. I suppose I shall have to pick her up something in Hogsmeade next weekend. Are you two still going?" She lied. She felt guilty, hiding the truth for them, but she had promised her professor as she healed him that she would remain quiet.

"Didn't we say we'd all go together?" Ron frowned.

"Oh, yes, that's right." She laughed nervously.

"Come on then, grab the cloak. I could do with a break from this." Harry said, but Hermione pushed him down as soon as he began to stand.

"You need to work. You'll not have time tomorrow. I'll be back soon."

* * *

Snape was distracted from grading the final paper in his pile by a tap on the window. He retrieved the letter from the bird before snapping the window shut, shivering at the icy breeze that had blown in.

He opened the blank envelope, curious.

_SS,  
__I will be there. Hope you are well, and intend to use your gift.  
__HG._

He placed the letter on the desk and prepared himself for bed. He laid the diary on the coffee table before he headed to bed with the vial of Dreamless Sleep in hand. He would not read any more of the thing. Though, no matter how long and hard he thought of it, he could not force himself to regret bringing it home.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione walked back from the owlery slowly, concealed by the cloak. Snape had probably not expected a reply, but what _did _he expect? The past twenty-four hours had been odd and she could not sort through the memories in a way for things to make sense. Perhaps her professor was acting so different as he was grateful for her aid. Or, more likely, he just hadn't the strength to turn her away.

Was that what the letter concerned? He wished for her to leave him alone … She could not blame him. Loneliness must become somewhat comforting after many years, she assumed. She did not know. He had been this way, presumably, since she was a small child. She could barely contemplate living in a pained solitude for so long. It seemed like no life, just mere survival.

Were her actions selfish? She could not help but notice that helping him, healing his wounds, bringing him food, relieved her own anxieties. Did it matter how it made her feel, as long as he benefited?

She pulled off Harry's cloak as she walked through the portrait hole.

"Hermione, we could use a bit of help." Harry said, frowning slightly. She sat between her friends, pointing out the information they needed. It was late when she headed off to bed, and she frowned, hoping she would not oversleep.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Severus sat on his sofa early the next morning, alone. He assumed the girl was not coming, and he could not help to feel a strange, squirming disappointment. He had felt as though something that resided in him resonated with something within her, but apparently he was wrong. It was likely a good thing, he told himself. The last thing he needed at the moment was some irksome student feeling that she was owed something from him.

Yet, there was the quiet knock on the door he was beginning to find familiar. He strode over, last nights potion easing his aches almost completely.

"Miss Granger." He said curtly, letting her enter.

"Good morning, Professor." She said. She stood awkwardly just past the entrance. "How are you feeling?"

"Adequate." He replied. "Are you not going to take a seat?" He fought a smile as she threw herself onto the sofa as though her life depended on it. "It was a question, Miss Granger, not an order."

"I'm sorry I'm late." She gestured to her wet hair and added, "I slept a little longer than I planned."

"It is a Sunday," he acknowledged, "it is unusual for any student to be up at this hour. I just thought it would be more … prudent, to meet when there would be less chance of your visit being noticed."

"Why?" She frowned. He bit back the rude remark that almost escaped.

"I daresay it would seem quite inappropriate, Miss Granger, for you to be seen visiting my quarters." He did not remove his gaze from her face as she blushed, realising the meaning of his words.

"But it's nothing like that." She objected. "And the smallest drop of Veritaserum would prove it."

"What is the muggle saying? _A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on_?" He said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "No, Miss Granger. Gossip and speculation very rarely rely on but the most basic points of truth."

He sat downon the desk chair opposite her, pouring a cup of tea for himself. He was not oblivious to her gaze which grew only more intense as he hovered the spout of the teapot over a second cup. He hadn't consciously decided to pour her a drink, offer her an unspoken invitation to stay longer. Yet he filled her cup anyway, ignoring her slightly raised eyebrows.

"Am I free to take this?" She asked, her hands moving to the diary that sat between them.

"Is it not yours?" He kept his face emotionless.

"It is…" She picked it up and turned it over in her hands. "You read it?" He could not help but to notice the expression of sadness on her face, exaggerated by her blush.

"Some." He admitted.

"Why?" Her voice was full of hurt, and he had not expected himself to feel so ashamed. He could not think of an adequate answer, and it seemed she was unsatisfied with his silence. She stood and looked down at him. "I was wrong about you." She muttered, her voice filled with hatred.

"Wrong about my loneliness?" He spat back as she walked to the door. "Or about me having no social life? I'd have to say you were, indeed, alarmingly correct on those points."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hermione did not know what to say, or even what to do. She stood frozen halfway between the sofa and the door. She had never felt such rage at this man before, yet he had never been so open with her. Had he been so open with anyone before? She found it hard to imagine. She turned on her heel to face him again. He was looking at her, still no expression on his face. Must he always be so guarded?

"You shouldn't have read it." She said. Though her insides were aflame, she felt so small and exposed that tears threatened to overflow. "It was private."

"As is my life." He responded, his cold eyes still fixed upon her. "Yet you feel free to contemplate that without my permission."

Neither spoke for a while. They stared at each other in silence, each unmoving. She surprised herself by walking back to the sofa and sitting, yet if he was at all shocked, he hid it well.

"You have gained insight to my thoughts." She started, quietly, yet paused for acknowledgement.

"I have." He said slowly.

"Have you told anyone?"

"That is not my place."

"Nor was it your place to read the damned thing." She pointed out.

"I have not divulged any of the information that I read." He said. "Though if it concerns you to such an extent, you may wish to be more careful with where you leave the journal in the future."

She felt instantly calmer upon hearing her secrets remained such. That was the main thing, after all. If not for that worry, none of this would have occurred.

"Can I ask you something?" She whispered, so quiet she was surprised he heard her. He nodded, approving.

"Why am I here?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Severus frowned at the girl, unsure of if he heard the question correctly.

"To retrieve your book, I assumed."

"Not that, I mean … why have you let me in?" He heard the double meaning of her words. Let her in, indeed. Not only had he opened his door to her, but this was the closest to informal social interaction he'd come in … well, longer than he cared to admit.

"I'm unsure of what to say." He said quietly. Would the truth be too far?

"You can trust me, Professor." She urged him. "Have I given you any reason to doubt that?"

"I can't say that you have." He sighed, and decided to admit to his feelings. The girl was right, and she had prevented him much agony over the past few days, going beyond the call of Gryffindor morals. "I have never been one to let my feelings show." He began, and scowled at her snort.

"Sorry." She said through a slight smile. "But that is the most dire case of stating the obvious I've ever heard."

He ignored her, trying to grasp his thoughts.

"You make me comfortable." He said simply, after a short silence. "It is most likely a result of your aid, some kind of unfortunate side effect of your … help." He watched her face turn slowly into a frown.

"Are you saying you like having me around?" she asked, though he could not tell if she were simply trying to clarify or trying to get him to say the words.

"You are inexcusably bold." He said, though he noticed his voice lacked it's normal coldness. "I am saying that your company does not disturb me as much as one may think."

"Do you think it will change?" She pondered, the expression on her face giving him the impressoin that she was voicing her thoughts aloud.

"That what will change?"

"This… Whatever it is." She gestured between the two of them. "Will you tire of my company?"

"I'm not entirely sure." He admitted. "Now you should make your way to breakfast. Arriving together would raise many more questions than I care to answer."


	7. Chapter 7

Harry and Ron were already halfway through their breakfast when Hermione arrived.

"Where've you been?" Ron asked. "We waited for ages."

"Studying." She lied. "How're you feeling?"

"Pretty confident." Interjected Harry. "Practise went really well yesterday."

"Yeah, but the weather's worse today." Pointed out Ron. Indeed, the snow was falling thick and heavy, and Hermione was glad she wasn't in charge of finding the golden snitch in these conditions.

"You'll be fine," she said with a smile. "It's not the end of the world if you don't win…"

The boys snorted.

"She just doesn't get Quidditch." Ron laughed.

She ate her breakfast slowly, her eyes flicking up to the staff table as though she had no control over their movement. She saw Snape sink into his seat and pick at his food, showing no interest in anyone or anything. She joined in with Harry and Ron's conversations as much as she could, but once they began discussing tactics and details, she lost interest.

"We'll see you in the stands?" Harry asked as he and Ron stood to leave.

"I'll be the one in the red and gold scarf." She joked. "Good luck."

"I'll need it in this blizzard." He admitted before walking away.

Hermione quickly returned to her common room before setting out into the cold grounds. She placed her diary in her trunk, which she ensured she locked after she took out her heavy coat, hat, scarf and gloves. She had missed the thing, and craved write another entry, but she didn't have time. Most students had already set off for the Quidditch pitch, and she needed to hurry.

"You're rooting for the wrong side, Mudblood." she heard a familiar voice sound behind her. "Though that's nothing new."

"Leave it, Malfoy." She spat, turning to face her tormentor.

"What an inspired comeback." He laughed, walking closer toward her. She involuntarily stepped back. She reached for her wand and threw a quick jelly legs curse at him before turning and running straight into Snape.

"What is going on here?" He asked, his voice cold.

"She hexed me!" Draco shouted after Snape quickly removed the boys affliction.

"Is this true?" He turned his attention back to Hermione.

"Yes, but-"

"But nothing!" Snape sneered. "Twenty points from Gryffindor."

She stared at him, aghast. She barely registered Draco's smug grin, her eyes focused on those of her professor. He looked slightly irritated, and there was no sign of the man she had spoken to this morning. The eyes that had shown understanding and compassion were now cold and empty.

She ran back to the castle, fighting tears. _I suppose the 'unfortunate side effect of my help' has worn off. _She thought to herself as sat before the fire. She listened to the roars from the pitch, but she wasn't interested enough to try to figure out who was winning.

* * *

The hurt on Hermione's face stuck in Severus' mind as he watched the Quidditch match, impassive. His eyes raked the Gryffindor stands, but he could not make out her face among the crowd. He felt unsettled at the thought of her alone in the castle, though he could not explain to himself why he cared. He had enough on his mind without forging a bond with an over emotional young girl. Yet he longed to return to the castle himself, to find her and to explain why he could not reveal any weakness, any kindness, especially to Draco.

But he could not explain that to anyone. Dumbledore's orders, as much as they played on his mind, were not to be shared with a soul.

* * *

Hermione looked up from the fire to see a crowd of people, all smiling and talking excitedly, walking into the common room. It was over already? It must have been a short match.

"We did it!" Said Ron sitting beside her. "Where were you?"

"I'm not feeling too well." She said. It was only a half lie.

"Do you need to go to the hospital wing?" Harry asked, a look of concern on his face. Hermione shook her head and forced a smile.

"I probably just need some rest."

"Yeah, no more studying at stupid hours of the morning." Ron nodded. Harry laughed.

Hermione allowed herself to be distracted by the play-by-play of the match that the boys were giving her, but that evening, an owl tapping its beak on the window snapped the three of them from yet another demonstration, this time involving levitating quills.

"Another letter for you." Harry said, thrusting the envelope into her hand. She glanced down and recognised the handwriting immediately.

_Visit as soon as you have received this letter._

_SS_

She threw the letter into the open fire they sat beside and asked Ron to show her again how he dodged that bludger.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione made her way to Potions the next morning feeling anxious. She walked beside Harry and Ron, but their jibes about Snape didn't make her feel better. In fact, she just wished everyone would shut up about him, and that he would leave Hogwarts. That way she'd not have to think about him again, not have to see his cold eyes whenever her mind wandered.

"My my, had a nice lie in, did we?" Snape seemed to swoop upon them as they walked in. He had not even looked at his pocket watch.

"We're right on time." Hermione said, not looking at him, as the three moved across the dungeon to their table.

"Know your place, Miss Granger. Five points from Gryffindor and detention, tonight. You shall scrub these cauldrons clean, no magic."

She looked up at him, and saw his face blank, the way she hated it. Devoid of any feeling. She looked away from his face, staring at the surface of the table, ignoring her classmates who were whispering about the unfairness.

* * *

Severus sat in the dungeon that night after dinner, awaiting the girl. She had ignored his letter, yet he doubted she would ignore a detention. He ensured that his face remained stoic, unreadable, as she came in, her eyes perusing the sparklingly clean cauldrons atop the desks.

"Have a seat, Miss Granger." He said, gesturing to the chair on the other side of his desk. She didn't sit. "If you'd rather stand…" He shrugged. "Why did you not respond to my summons yesterday?"

"You really must ask?" she scoffed.

"I suppose not. It's … a complicated matter, Miss Granger. Sit down." He said again. Could she want to leave so badly that she would rather remain upright, ready to sprint to the door upon dismissal? Probably. He was hardly good company in anyones eyes.

This time she did as she was told, sinking softly into the chair. He looked at her before speaking, his eyes taking in the red, puffy look of hers, which were avoiding looking at him. Had she been crying? He didn't ask. He should not care.

"I gather Potter has told you of my … role, in this war." He began, pausing in wait of her nod. "And you know of the Malfoy family's reputation." She nodded again, though her stony expression had not changed. He sighed. He did not wish to spell it out for her. He knew she was smart enough to connect the dots herself. Yet she remained quiet, the only sound in the room was their breathing, slightly out of sync. "I cannot show any aspect of my true self, it is far too dangerous. Can you imagine the consequences if Draco were to return to his family for Christmas and tell his father that I was defending a -"

"Mudblood." She finished for him. She had snapped up her eyes at this, and her penetrating glare made him feel like a monster. It would appear he was the cause of her upset, her eyes shining in the dim light with unshed tears.

"I despise the word with my entire being. I hate the prejudice. You cannot even begin to comprehend my disgust when I hear it spoken." He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"No, _Professor,_" her voice was raised. "_You _cannot comprehend how _I _feel when _I_ hear it. It bears no reflection upon you as a wizard, as a person. It insults my very being. Don't think for a moment that it has more of an effect on you than it does me."

"I see." He said quietly. Neither was looking at the other, their eyes staring at anything else they could settle on. Silence filled the room for a short while.

"Why did you ask me here, professor?" She asked after a while. "Clearly you do not intend me to clean cauldrons."

"I wanted to explain." He said, struggling to find the words. He hated himself for the way he felt, the fear of rejection from this girl who would be so justified in giving it. It was as though he was a child again, so afraid of making a wrong social move and being burdened with loneliness. Even after decades of solitude, he had not grown to care for it. "That even though, around others, I cannot be myself, around you … I feel more comfortable than I have with anyone else, for a very long time."

"So what happens from here, then?" She asked, her voice as tired as she looked. He lowered his eyebrows before she could notice they had risen in shock. "You're going to be defending blood purists and taking points from me just to keep up appearances, all the while I should be comforted by the fact that you don't really hate me?"

"It is entirely up to you, of course. Though while around others, I will have to - as you say - keep up appearances, outside of watchful eyes, you are always welcome company." The silence mocked him, though he had to give her credit for not laughing in his face.

"So … you could go as far to say that, if we are alone together, you are no longer my cruel, unfair, hateful potions professor?"

"And you are no longer my relentless, perfectionist student. Precisely. We both have our parts to play, Miss Granger."

"Hermione." She said quietly. "If we're going to distance the true me from the one who joins in insulting you behind your back, I'd rather you didn't address me the same way for each."

"That makes sense." He said. Why did the thought of her insulting him fill him with sadness and shame instead of the desire to punish? He paused for a moment before adding, uncomfortably, "Hermione."

"So, Severus." She began, her lips twitching at the use of his forename. Amused, or uncomfortable? He could not tell. "Where to from here?"

"You didn't eat much during dinner." He noted.

"No, I didn't. I didn't want to scrub revolting cauldrons on a full stomach." He felt a strange pang of guilt. He had never planned on ruining her evening. He just wanted to explain, to tell the one person who had shown compassion toward him that he wasn't the monster he was forced to appear as.

"If you feel so inclined, you could eat dinner in my quarters. The house elves in the kitchen would be more than happy to quickly make up something." The invitation slipped from his mouth, and for a moment he hoped that she had not him. One glance to her widened eyes proved that she had.

"Would you be eating?" She asked him. He did not see why it mattered, but he nodded, not trusting himself to speak again just yet. "When shall I meet you there… Severus?" She smiled again at the use of his name, and he fought the twitch at the corners of his own lips. His name. Said without the contempt he usually heard it, and without the patronising tone of Albus Dumbledore.

"Make your way down there now. It is locked, but you've already proven you have means and ways of getting around that."

He watched the colour rise in her cheeks at the reference to her break-in, and remained seated until she had left the dungeon. It was hard to know if her was doing the right thing, but this girl was the closest he had had to a friend in a great number of years. He hadn't felt as at ease since… Lily. He shook the thought from his head and left for the kitchens.

* * *

Hermione, thankfully, had not passed anyone on the way to Severus' living quarters. She had not brought the cloak, expecting the evening to unfold very differently to the way it was progressing. She let herself into the living room, quietly, and sat on the sofa, waiting.

It wasn't long before Severus walked into the room, his arms full of food.

"I didn't know your preference." He shrugged as she raised her eyebrows at the amount he was laying on the table.

"I'm not a picky eater." She said, before adding, "Though I'm not fond of lamb."

"Any particular reason?" He asked, using his wand to produce cutlery, two plates and goblets.

"I grew up near a sheep farm. I like them too much to eat them." She said, laughing softly at how silly it sounded. "And you? Any foods you dislike?"

"Mushrooms." He said. "I do like the taste. It's a texture issue."

They sat beside each other on the sofa, asking each other questions. Hermione learned a few unsurprising facts - Severus' favourite colour was grey, he preferred Defence against the dark arts to potions, he was an only child.

"Tell me something about yourself." He said after yet another question.

"There is very little to tell." She said with a slight shrug. She was quite uninteresting.

"Then why was your diary so full of your thoughts?" He asked.

"None of it is very interesting, believe me."

"I would have to disagree. I find you … intriguing."

"What would you like to know?" She asked, tentatively.

"Have you put any further thought into going home for the holidays?"

"That's a much more personal question than any I asked you!" she objected.

"Your questions were your choice, as this is mine." He said as he offered her another slice of carrot cake, which she politely declined.

"I'm sticking to my decision. My parents are intending to spend Christmas in Germany, visiting the festive markets."

"And what about the Weasley boy's home? Have you not received an invitation?"

"I have…" She paused, thinking over her answer. "I shan't burden them when I have no real desire to be there."

"You do not wish to spend Christmas with your friends?" His eyebrow was raised sceptically.

"It's not that I dislike spending time with them." She said quickly. "They are great friends. It just becomes draining, sometimes, feeling as though you have to fit into a certain mould."

"I can empathise." He nodded.

"What are your plans for Christmas?" She asked, wondering too late if she had been to bold.

"I will remain in the castle."

"No family? No friends?" She felt she was really pushing things now, yet to her surprise, he did not yell, nor ask her to leave.

"I have no family, nor friends."

"I'm sorry." She said, unable to think of anything more substantial to say in response. "Though, if you are not my Professor - some of the time - then surely that makes me your friend?" His stifled laughter did not go unnoticed, and she frowned at him.

"Would you consider me your friend, Miss Granger?"

"Hermione." She corrected him. "I'm not entirely sure what I consider you."

"Then we are in the same situation." He said, his fought smile replaced with a look of deep thought. Hermione assumed a similar look was on her face, though admittedly hers should have a pinch of confusion, too. It seemed impossible that she would be sat here with her potions master - for he was her potions master, regardless of their silly little agreement - discussing a potential friendship between them.

She felt strange around him. It was as though he was not himself, not so fearsome and loathing, but instead… It was almost as though she was talking to a child. An only child, who was unfamiliar with social interactions, and could not quite figure out exactly how to act. His pauses in speech and jerky movements made her feel a strange mingling of sadness and confusion. It was as though he could not relax. She reached for her goblet at the same moment he reached for his, and he has snapped his hand back before even the slight, accidental contact could take place. She held back her sigh, and acted as though nothing had happened. He did not seem to be at all comfortable in her presence. Such a shame, then, that she felt so at ease in his.

* * *

**A/N**: Longest chapter yet, wahey. Thank you all so much for reading, and extra thanks to those who have reviewed. It brightens even the bleakest of days.


	9. Chapter 9

Severus had been talking to Hermione for much longer than he had thought. Night had deepened, the moonlight scattering off the fallen snow, leftover food lying cold and forgotten upon the table.

"I apologise for keeping you so late." He said, though he wasn't truly sorry at all. It was nice, however strange to admit it to himself, to sit and talk to this person, to get to know her. Though he was slightly unnerved. He should not want her there, and he should not find himself so close to smiling, or so close to revealing something too personal. The glances that she kept giving him - small, quick looks from the corner of her eye - did not help settle him. He felt as though he was being studied.

"Oh no, is that the time?" She gasped, looking at her watch.

"Am I keeping you from something?" He asked. Her watch showed that they were creeping close to one in the morning.

"I didn't do my homework." She sighed. "It's fine, I can start tonight and finish over breakfast."

"Which subject is it?"

"Potions." She said with a humourless laugh, and he resisted the twitch at the corner of his lips. "This detention has quite possibly earned me another. What an unfortunate cycle."

"Unfortunate?" He couldn't keep from repeating the word, though he was glad that his voice did not betray him by showing the hurt he felt at her words. "You have been free to leave for a number of hours."

"I don't mean unfortunate in that sense - it's been quite a lovely evening - it just won't look very good on my record to have too many detentions, will it?"

"You won't receive one tomorrow. From me, at least." He said with a dismissive wave of the hand. "And don't worry about the work tonight. Just get some sleep. You look exhausted."

She looked surprised. He kept his face straight, plain, empty. Perhaps he should have settled for taking points from her, rather than this. But it did not seem very fair. He had invited her here, he could hardly take house points for her accepting his invitation. He shook his head softly to himself. He would figure it out in the morning.

He watched her leave, grasping the note from him which explained - should she run into anyone - that she had been scrubbing cauldrons until now. He cleared the food with his wand and sat by the window, unseeing, lost in thought. It was a pleasant surprise when an owl tapped on the glass a short while later. He unfurled the parchment attached to it's leg, and read:

_SS,_

_Thank you for such a pleasant evening. Please rest assured I won't breathe a word of what you have told me to anyone - not even your hatred of edible fungi. _

_I probably will not visit for the next few days - I have much work to do, and neither the freezing library or the crowded common room offer much in the way of adequate study conditions, so progress is somewhat slower than I prefer. _

_HG._

He smiled slightly at the letter and looked outside. He could see the girl moving through the snow from the owlery to the castle. The sky was clear, the moon full, and the serene light reflected from the snow, illuminating the smile upon her face. He felt a small temptation to punish her for so obviously breaking school rules, but it vanished before he had even really contemplated it. She looked happy. He glanced at the note again. She would visit again, it seemed. Logically, he did not know how to feel about it. But despite his mind refusing to settle on logical reaction, he felt an odd mingling of emotions; anticipation, slight excitement, and a strange fury that she pitied him enough to provide him with company again.

He did not reply that night, but left the note, a spare piece of parchment and a quill on the coffee table before he went to bed, to serve as a reminder to do so upon waking.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you all again for the reviews. I'm having a bit of a rough time at the moment and they really cheer me up.

I made a mistake earlier in the story, so I'm doing the honourable thing and holding up my hands to admit it - Hermione is 17, not 16 as I stated. The site isn't letting me go back to change it, for some reason.


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione was bleary-eyed at breakfast, her late night certainly not going without punishment. She brewed herself a rather strong cup of tea, hoping it would wake her slightly.

"Tired?" Ron asked as he grabbed his fourth slice of toast.

"A little." She nodded. "I didn't get to sleep until late."

"Yeah, we waited up until midnight for you…"

"I wasn't much later than that, really. It's not too bad."

"I guess Snape gave you a hard time?" Harry asked, and Hermione made a noise of agreement through her mouthful of porridge, glad for the excuse not to give a more verbal response.

She understood why she and Severus must both play their parts, act as though their seemingly ancient dislike remained, but it did not sit easily with her. For what could she tell her friends? That Snape had kept her up into the small hours, scrubbing cauldrons and being a pest? It didn't seem right, when really the night was full of good food and even better - thought slightly awkward - conversation.

Owls swooped into the great hall, dropping letters and packages of all shapes and sizes in front of the students. Neville didn't move his cereal in time to prevent the small heavy parcel from dropping into it, splashing him with milk. A Daily Prophet dropped in front of Hermione, and was quickly swooped up by Ron.

"Quidditch scores." He shrugged with a cheeky smile.

Another owl flew overhead and dropped a letter bearing Hermione's name. She tore it open, thankful she was sitting opposite the boys.

_HG,_

_I echo your thanks, and your promise. _

_If you find studying in each place to come too unpleasant, feel free to use my quarters. As you know, there is an open fireplace, and I have enough work to do to keep myself quiet for quite some time. _

_Of course, you must not feel obliged. _

_SS._

"What is it?" Ron asked, staring at the parchment Hermione held as if attempting to read the words through the back.

"Just something about private study sessions. You know how distracting the library can be…" She ignored the boys amused expressions. "I'm sure I could put your names down on my reply, should you want to join me."

"Er, we'll be alright in the common room, thanks." Harry said. She nodded and ignored the urge to smile. She now had an excuse to leave without suspicion, and Harry and Ron weren't even slightly interested in what she was going to be doing. It wasn't that much of a lie, really.

* * *

Severus sat at his window, taking a break from testing his fifth years potions after the first ten did nothing but sour his mood. Sometimes he thought he must be an atrocious teacher if this was the best his students could do, but they all simply seemed to lack discipline. Of course, there were a few exceptions, but wading through manure to see a flower didn't always seem worth the effort.

There was a knock on the door, and he moved swiftly across the room. He opened the door, wand at the ready, assuming he would see Peeves on the other side - he'd been tormenting the teachers more than usual for the past week.

"Miss Granger." He drawled, hiding his surprise.

"Hermione." She whispered back, correcting him. "Can I come in?"

He stepped aside, and once she entered he closed the door behind her. It was strange how at ease he felt, having her around. This was the closest thing he had to a true home, and he normally disliked others being inside, yet her few days of absence had him almost missing her company.

"Tea?" He offered, as he pulled the whistling kettle from the fire.

"I'd love a cup." She said, pulling a Defence Against The Dark Arts book from her large, heavy looking book bag. Severus wondered how she managed to stand under the weight of it. "And thank you - for conveniently forgetting to ask for our homework the other day."

"Why are you not with your friends?" He asked as he poured their tea, ignoring her thanks. They made him uncomfortable. It was Friday night, and the majority of the students were outside having post-dinner snowball fights and building snowmen, or lounging in their common rooms, playing chess or gossiping.

"I need quiet. I want to get this paper out of the way before the weekend really begins." She slowly drummed her fingers on the coffee table, having sat on the floor beside it.

"What is so special about this weekend?" He asked. His voice sounded as it always did. Cold. Uncaring. Though the politeness was quite new.

"I'm going to Hogsmeade tomorrow. Christmas shopping. And then Sunday is the last Quidditch match before the holidays, and I dread to think of what would happen if I didn't cheer Gryffindor on two games in a row. Thank you." She added as he passed her the cup of tea. "Do you have any plans?"

"Grading potions." He said, simply. She looked at him expectantly, as though waiting for him to add more activities.

"That's it?" She asked, confirming his suspicions.

"Not all of us are in the business of exchanging Christmas gifts, so I have no need to shop. I have no desire to watch Gryffindor beat Hufflepuff, which they surely will. Their new seeker is hopeless And I've three classes worth of potions to grade by Monday, so I shall be quite tied up regardless."

"You don't exchange gifts with anyone?" She looked at him, and the shock on her face made him feel like laughing. Or crying. Or shouting and sending her away.

"Did we not already establish my lack of family and friends? I expect Dumbledore will get me the usual assortment of sweets, the typical gift he gives to staff each year. I do not care for Christmas. I have not celebrated it for many years."

"I'll get you something." She said, smiling. "You need more than a staff present."

"I need nothing." He said sharply. He did not much care for gifts, especially ones given through pity.

"But you want something." She pressed. "Care to give me an idea, or shall I just surprise you?"

"Anything I desire that money can buy, I purchase myself."

"Surprise it is." She nodded, draining her cup and opening her book. He watched her for a moment, her finger tracing the words on the page, before returning to his potions.

* * *

"Would it be okay if I made more tea?" Hermione asked Severus after an hours silent work. She had finished her first draft of this essay, but she was certain she was missing something critically important, and needed a break to clear her mind.

"I will do it, but, for future reference, you don't need to ask." He said, disappearing for a few moments to fill the kettle. Hermione stared out of the window at the scene below. She was sure she could see Harry and Ginny walking together, and she wondered if they were happy. She turned her attention back to the room when Snape returned, setting the kettle in the fire.

"What are the potions?" She asked, looking at them warily. One vial appeared to be full of tar, the one next to it like pureed beetroot.

"They're all supposed to be a basic pain relief, used for minor things… headaches and such." He said, handing her some tea. "Yet I daresay that not one of them is correct. That one," he pointed to the tarlike concoction, "Is more likely to cause pain than ease it."

"I didn't think to make you this when … before." She did not know how to refer to the events that transpired the first night she had been here.

"I had no need for it." He said softly, and she thought she saw a quick smile appear on his face. "Did I ever thank you?"

"I didn't do it for recognition, Severus." She pointed out, and his smile reappeared. Briefly.

"You are a strange girl." He said, his voice so quiet that Hermione believed he wasn't fully aware that he was speaking his thoughts.

* * *

Severus was surprised at how easy he found it to work alongside the girl. The silence was comfortable, and their hourly tea breaks provided a welcome chance to relax. He had proofread her Defence Against the Dark Arts essay, enjoying the opportunity. Hermione sometimes looked up from her books, a curious expression etched onto her face, watching him work his way through the potions.

They talked, some, about the gifts she was planning on buying her friends and family. She mentioned that she was knitting socks for her parents, a long tradition, and probably buying both a selection of sweets and Quidditch paraphernalia for Ron and Harry.

"You're the only person whose gift I can't decide." She said, packing her books away later into the night.

"I have no desire for a gift." He said, as he had done numerous times already. She rolled her eyes at him. He couldn't understand why she felt so obliged to buy him something. Especially on a day of religious celebration, when he had no belief in any kind of god.

"You risk getting something atrocious." She said. "I could end up getting you a book you already own," she gestured to the stuffed bookcases in the room, "Or a Gryffindor scarf…"

She giggled as he exhaled a soft laugh.

"It's nice to see you smile." She said, and his laughter instantly stopped. He had not realised his guard had slipped so far. He had not realised he laughed. He didn't even know it was still possible, really. He had not laughed without thinking about it in such a long time. "I'm sorry." She said quickly. "I didn't mean-"

"You have nothing to apologise for." He cut her off, shaking his head. "It is a fault of mine - I leave myself far too open around you."

"Is there anything in particular you want to hide from me?" She asked. "I mean, if we are friends, why should you need to keep yourself hidden around me? I'm open with you. It hardly seems fair."

As soon as he opened his mouth to respond, he felt the burn of the dark mark on his forearm. He groaned slightly.

"I have to leave." He said, pulling on his cloak and walking to the fireplace.

"I'll wait." She said quickly.

"Do not be stupid - you need your sleep." He said, though he could not help but hope she was still there upon his return.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you all so, so much for the reviews. Due to the world cup, I'll possibly be updating much more frequently - I don't care for football (soccer to most of you, I assume) but my boyfriend loves it, so I'll have neither him nor the TV as distractions. On the other hand, this will possibly land me the role of sole care provider for our son, so I may not have a chance to sit down and write. We will see!

(And a quick side note: do you guys know any really, really good SSHG fics? I'm totally devouring them at the moment and would love some recs.)


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione sat for a long time, lost in thought, moving only to occasionally reheat the water in the kettle or put another log onto the fire.

She was alarmed by how easy it was to separate the man she was growing to care for from the man who continued to ridicule her and her friends during the day. She had begun to start wishing she could be in Severus' company, when she was in fact sitting before him in class. He made easy company. He did not mind her thoughtful silences, nor her presence. At least, not that she could tell. She felt as though he enjoyed her being around, too. His laugh had been as pleasant as it had been unexpected, his face seeming to lose some of the hardness his rough life had given him.

She wondered whether his life of misery had ever offered anything pleasant. It did not seem so. He seemed so deeply unhappy that anything else would appear almost unnatural. Yet when he smiled… She smiled herself at the memory. It was as though he was an entirely different person. Her heart fluttered oddly, and she ignored it. There was no sense in making this any more complicated than it already was. He was different, that was all. She cared for him. There was nothing more to it.

She kicked off her shoes and curled up on the sofa, a book in her hands. What she read surprised her, but even the shock could not keep her from drifting into an unwilling sleep.

* * *

Severus stepped from the fireplace, the sleeve of his robe pressed firmly to the back of his shoulder. It wasn't so bad, this time. The wound hurt, of course, but it was the position that maddened him more than anything else. It would be extremely tricky to heal a part of himself that he couldn't see. His heart lifted as he saw Hermione on the sofa. She was sleeping, her mouth slightly open, her breathing soft. He did not like the effect he had on her. He was so very moved that she was here. She had stayed.

He decided he would wake her when he had healed himself - there was no sense in worrying her. She cared far too much about everything. His eyes were fixed on her face as he walked by the edge of the sofa, and he did not notice the half full cup of tea on the floor until he had kicked it over. The noise snapped her awake, and she jumped up instantly.

"Are you ok?" She asked, moving around him, trying to move his arm from his injury.

"I'm fine. I am more than capable of handling this myself." He said shortly, yet he let her move his hand.

"Take off your robes." She said softly. "And sit on the desk chair."

"I can manage." He spat. The tone would make most students flee, but she simply looked at him. He felt awkwardly defenceless under her gaze.

"You can let me help you, or you can struggle to do it yourself and risk making things worse." She said plainly. He made no move to do anything, and she continued. "Or you can just stand there. And I can stupefy you and then fix you. You don't really look like you'd be that quick at defending yourself…"

"Fine." He said with a resigned sigh. He was not in the mood for this. He unfastened his robes and pulled them off himself. He did not like people to see him this way. Few people knew that underneath his robes, he wore muggle clothing. Plain black trousers, a plain white shirt. He preferred his robes around others. They gave him a rather chilling presence, and he preferred that to looking how he did now. Human. Not approachable, but not the formidable potions master. He did not turn to check her reaction.

"Erm, Severus… You'll have to take your shirt off. It goes down your back a bit." Ugh. The evening was only getting better. He unbuttoned his shirt halfway, and slid it off his shoulders. He would not reveal anymore than he had to.

He was impressed with her thoroughness, efficiency and speed. She could easily become a healer if she desired. He wondered briefly what she would do once she had finished her NEWTs. She would make a decent teacher - a bit soft, perhaps, in his opinion. A healer, most definitely, though perhaps it would bore her too quickly. It would be a waste of her talents. Perhaps she would work in the ministry, though he couldn't imagine she would rest easily if she knew of the corruption. Maybe she wouldn't work at all. Perhaps she would settle down immediately, have children, get married. No. He couldn't imagine that for a moment. He closed his mind to the thoughts. It was not his business to know.

"I can clean myself." He drawled once she had finished her spells, and begun dabbing at the tender skin where the wound had been. He took the damp washcloth from her and moved to the bathroom, where he tried to position himself before the mirror in a way that he could actually see what he was doing. He scrubbed himself - perhaps a little too vigorously - and pulled his shirt back on. He hoped Hermione had left. He hated seeming weak and helpless more than almost anything else, and this was the second time he had accepted her help.

He was not so lucky. She was sitting on his sofa, pouring tea, her hair still dishevelled from sleep.

"How are you feeling?" She asked him. He glowered at her, though she took no notice.

"Like I was hit by a curse." He said. She smiled softly, ignoring the cold edge to his voice. She looked so out of place here. Or perhaps he did. The room seemed to change dramatically when she was present. The shadows dancing on the walls seemed less erratic, more pleasant, tamed by the soft glow of the fireplace. It felt like a happy place. He had not been happy in a long time. It did not anger him, that she changed his home so much just by being present, but it made him fill with curiosity. According to her journal, she was not happy, either. He was thinking of how to phrase his question about this, when she spoke.

"I didn't actually know that there was a magical effect when one magical person saves another's life."

"I never thought you to be one who admits to being unaware of things." He said, mocking. Though, of course, there was no magical effect. It was simple gratitude, common courtesy. Something even the wildest of beasts were capable of showing.

"I'm not stupid." She said, though there was no defensiveness in her tone. "And it would be wildly arrogant and presumptuous to claim I know everything. I'm neither of those things. I'm seventeen - perhaps eighteen, if you want to be precise. I have a lifetime of learning ahead of myself, and I'll still barely know a thing." He kept his face blank and controlled, though inside, he was frowning in confusion A few moments of silence passed, where she sat on the floor, leaving the sofa clear for him. She hugged her knees to her chest, resting her cheek on them, and then her eyes snapped to him.

"It must irritate you quite a lot, not knowing how to end it."

"End what?" He asked. Her eyes did not leave his, and he resisted the need to blink. Despite her seemingly content impression she showed to the world, there was an unhappy heaviness in those deep brown eyes, betrayed the soft smile that played upon her lips.

"The Debt of Escaped Death." She said softly, as though he should know what she was talking about.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry it took a few days for such a short chapter. If it's any justification, I suffer from sciatica (No, I'm not old, just unlucky) and have spent the past few days on rather strong medication which makes me lose any semblance of sanity. If I had written anything, it would have been as ridiculous as Severus and Hermione baking muffins to feed to the giant squid.

On a side note, this football is driving me insane. If I hear one more thing about England merely drawing with "a country who think football is a sport to be played with your hands", I will not be held responsible for my actions.


End file.
